#and that isn't me saying i hate him!!!! i think he can be interesting!! i just find solaris and prism More interesting y'know

[privitivium]

bratty little freak ,,, dom delinquent?! reader

gettin ragebaited during sex. daddy kink,,... exhibition maybe.

a total scumbag is pushing it. maybe. because you can be really nice, but everyone ignores that in favor of acknowledging you as nothing but ;;

a gangleader with your airheaded posse following you and every command you breathe... and to have a pretty, popular puppy boy who's got some serious issues at your fingertips. who,,, unfortunately thinks you're just the grimiest bastard aroundㅡas nice as he is! how could he ever let you touch him? a man of high status - who has a fine reputation to uphold, the prince!!!

y-you're not quite a loser, but a bad influence!! horribly, terribly, so very awful - everyoneㅡincluding himㅡdespise you and your disgusting ways. delinquent little freak preying on the innocence ( he knows what you do to the fucking nerd... )ㅡyou're nothing but a disgusting, degenerate bully. but even so... he can't stop himself, crawling back for more.

it's the only thing you're good for, he assures himself. your huge hands and your dick and your degredation...

!!! poor guy who swears he has to keep up this facade... who can't admit he likes a little heavy petting from the man he screams he hates the most. ( who gets jealous over the stupidest shit. who gets mad when you tell him ur gonna go take a leak n he isn't there to aim ur dick in the urinal. ) but a simple sick little freak weak for his hookups' callous hand ruffling his fluffy hair,,,.

gives him all kinds of sick thrills. getting bred in a utility closet by the guy everyone thinks is a brute?

and you, said brute ; dicking the prince of the palace down in a janitors closet... is that the best you could do? under these circumstances, yeah. between bathrooms, empty classrooms, and closets... why not where the prince has been hiding his whole life??? you get a laugh out of it...  

;; ㅡ "y-you're not even good at this," snarls the man who begged you for a mouthful of spit, moments beforeㅡbecause kissing is romantic!ㅡgrowling at you despite his handsome face squished against the wall... lying straight through his teeth!! half naked,,,, pants shucked down to his ankles, showing off his amazing assets, shirt tugged over his headㅡone arm pinned to his back by this 'total fucking brute' whilst his other hand is being held sweetly by yours. he wanted it this way! 

- you laugh breathlessly behind himㅡnothing you havent heard before yet he still tries!ㅡill pace to keep him on edge; suddenly stuttering forward harshly with a nasty grunt - balls deep and he's nearly crying out, "then why do you keep coming back to me? dirty little liar." you spat.

;; tch! trying sooo hard to be all mean when he's cumming apart at the seams... his blemished back glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the dim light - fuck, he looks divine. hands are too preoccupied to roam... hips snapping against his plump naked ass with intent to dirty his insides. it's such a high,,,  he's so adorable... like a little dog cosplaying as a wolf...

ㅡ"ow-! d-" he cuts himself off, choking on his words. going one step further and accidentally - literally biting his tongue. cheeks burning with heat, tears pooling in eyes at the stinging pain as he lay there uselessly,,,, interest piqued. caught up in what he Didn't say... what was he gonna say? what? d...addy? daddy?!!!

face brightening. "dah...?" you hum, albeit flustered. hands leaving his to grope his body. roaming over the naked expanse of his abdomen to cup his squishy pecs - feathery light touches that have him mewling and thrashing around for more,,, 

"you wanna call me daddy?" straight jumping to conclusions; but knowing how much of a pervert he is; knowing what kind of perversion he consumes-! you grin broadly, cock twitching inside his sweet gummy walls - you lean in closer, ghosting the shell of his ear and relishing in the way he shivers - tightening up on your prick stuffed ramrod inside him. "go ahead. i wont make fun of you..." you assure gently. 

indignant. "i'm not calling you daddy-!"

ㅡ "won't move til you do." you inform. then,, having the gall to yawn, pretending ur passin the time! he whines pitifully, squirming against you as if trying to rock his body on your manhood ㅡ but you weren't having it!! keeping him still, bruising grip keeping him in place with a swift reminder of hushing up. hugging him from behind,,, nuzzling into him all sweet. not paying his own dick any mind, he'd rather much focus on yours... so.

immediatelu folding... shamefully, "daddy... please," he implored, needily pushing his ass into ur groin, "pleaseee, pretty please fuck me. fuck me s-so hard i won't be able to sit or- or walk-!"

doesnt have to repeat himself, but my god how hot is it to hear him ramble on!?!

;; and after? with your cum oozing out of his hole, trembling, can't even stand up straight. just how he asked for it ㅡ "c'mon, hold onto my arm. got some spare clothes for ya in my locker." you ruffle his hair - taking hold of him carefully. he glares atyou scornfully, tears clouding his eyes from pleasure he hadn't bother to shed or wipe away, "like i'd want to be seen with the likes of you-" how can you take him serious when he looks so beautiful? even when hes insulting you straight to your face... real cute

[mikhaelwrites]

Dog-sitting Duty | Thunderbolts x Superman 2025 headcanons

Might be some spoilers for Superman 2025! I don't mention any plot stuff but I can't remember how much Krypto was talked about / shown in the trailer or teasers. i dont think any major spoilers. but definitely spoilers for thunderbolts*. obviously.

For some reason or another, Thunderbolts have to watch Krypto

Is this a good idea? No, not at all. But Krypto is basically indestructible so at least they can't kill him--the same can't be said for the Thunderbolts themselves of course

Alexei is actually the one that volunteers them to watch Krypto. he has no interest in actually taking care of the dog, he just thinks Krypto is adorable and he's fun to wrestle with.

he gets his ass kicked repeatedly by the dog and, even though sometimes it takes him a while to get back up, when he does he swears this will be the time he wins (spoiler: nope)

(and maybe, secretly. he offers the Thunderbolts up for babysitting duty because he's honored. honored that someone such as Superman would recognize them. that he, a washed up russian super soldier, was somehow on Superman's radar. even for just a second. maybe it makes him feel important, noticed, appreciated. Superman's thank you so earnest and true it felt like a touch from heaven)

Walker hates all of this, annoyed and scoffing, "Well, don't expect me to help take care of him."

yeah. well. yk that meme where someone brings home a cat or a dog and the dad is like, im not taking care of it >:( and then proceeds to fall in love with the animal and do literally everything in their power to take care of it?

John proceeds to set out water bowls, leaves all the doors open so Krypto can wander, makes Krypto some quality dog food, puts on the TV so Krypto isn't bored during downtime, uses his shield as a frisbee for Krypto to catch (he has to make a new one anyways, might as well find some use for it, right?)

John won't say it out loud--but this is the first time in a long time he's been able to take care of something, and he's trying to prove something to himself.

out in the desert, he told Ava and Yelena that the key to a happy family was to "keep going at it, every day" and he was right about that, even if he'd actually failed to do it

he isn't ready to get back to his family, to be the father his kid needs. he isn't there yet. he isn't ready to keep going at it every day.

but maybe… maybe if he can take care of one stupid dog, just for a few days, then maybe he can prove to himself that he can do it

Ava does not like the dog. He's too loud, too overstimulating, too violent, poorly trained.

She avoids the dog at all costs

Until one day, exhausted and in pain, she falls asleep with her door open.

When she wakes up, she feels… warm. And the pain isn't gone but its certainly not as terrible as she was expecting

she opens her eyes and there he is, Krypto. wagging his tail as he lays across her chest.

"hi" she says, bringing her hand hesitantly up to scratch at his ears. she's worried that the wrong move will send Krypto bounding around the room, using her chest as a fucked up trampoline.

instead, he just licks at her arm and then plops his head right back down and lays there.

she's still in pain, that wont change, but Krypto's warmth, his weight, makes the sharp edges of that pain dull.

Yelena is… neutral about Krypto. he's sweet. adorable, really. poorly trained, sure, but aren't they all?

she simply doesn't know what to do with him whenever he pops up

she'll chat with him, as she passes by, or whenever he comes into wherever she is

it starts simply, really. just a few passing comments, "hello Krypto," or "is that a yummy shoe, dog?" or simple reactionary comments, "i know, how boring is that?" "i dont like it either, Krypto"

then she ends up alone with Krypto a lot more than she meant to, and those comments turn into conversation

"i dont see the appeal in Sitcoms, this might just be a me thing" "yes, exactly, Krypto. they're all very childish"

simple, silly things at first.

then.

"i had a dog once," she strokes from the top of his head to the end of his back. scratching at the point where his tail starts, "she didnt live for very long. she wasnt supposed to. she wasn't really mine, she was theirs. she didn't have a name, besides a number. i called her [insert russian dog name]. she's dead now"

evolving into,

Yelena tries to keep the watery tone out of her voice, "i've killed a lot of people, i've caused a lot of pain. so much. how--my dad wants me to forgive myself, how am i meant to do that if i can't even? say it? say their names? describe their faces? say how they died, how i killed them?"

Krypto turns into her way of confession. a way to look into the eyes of something living, something breathing, and tell them what exactly she has done

there will always be a weight on her chest, always a fine layer of guilt and regret and shame, but something unravels, uncoils itself from her chest as she tells stories upon stories of her deeds.

its not perfect. but it works. and thats what matters

Bucky didn't wanna deal with this dog from the start. he prefers the calmness that comes with his cat, Alpine. dogs were never really his thing

so, he ignores Krypto completely. avoids rooms that he's in, ignores the nudging of a wet nose against his hand as he walks by, doesn't blink when Krypto yelps and barks and woofs for attention

Krypto must take offense because, as soon as he possibly can, he snatches Bucky's metal arm

thankfully, no one else is around to see what happens next

"god damnit stupid fucking dog" he pants as he runs around the tower chasing after Krypto, "why did i ever let you in? shoulda fucken told Alexei to watch you somewhere other than here if he wanted you so damn badly"

eventually, he gets the arm back

but it keeps happening

not just the arm, either. anything. anything bucky's holding or using or messing around with. Kyrpto will snatch it up and run away, leaving Bucky to chase after the unruly thing

Bucky hates to admit it, but at some point, he stops being annoyed and starts feeling… fulfilled.

when he became Congressman, he did it because he wanted to do some good. but it left him feeling… antsy. unused. washed up.

everyone kept telling him that he was finally free, that he could settle down, that he never had to see another day of combat in his life. Bucky would always be grateful to be free, to no longer be forced to harm people, made into someone--something--else.

but dear god, did he miss it. he was trained to do so much. he was capable of so much and he didn't want to stop now. Bucky didn't want to stop moving, didn't want to settle down.

he spent too much time as the Winter Soldier, using his trained skills for evil. but now he wanted to use it for something good--or, even… just something simple. something useless. something silly. something just for himself. something with no stakes.

like chasing a superpowered dog around.

he did want to settle down, some. he wanted to help, he wanted to use his abilities, these bloodied hands, for something good. but most of all he wanted to reckon with everything he'd become, allow Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes to become one. for so long there had been a dissonance, the Winter Soldier a towering shadow at his back.

now, as he scaled walks and leaped from spot to stop, he felt as though he was finally whole again. the constant itching under his skin, the shadow on his back, the weight of guilt on his shoulders, gone

maybe Krypto wasn't all that bad.

Bob and Krypto are immediately best friends as soon as Krypto realizes that Bob is just as indestructible as his owner is

literally the exact scene of Supergirl getting slammed into the ground repeatedly by Krypto but Bob is COMPLETELY sober

pets are good for mental health so Krypto actually helps quite a lot to support Bob---so much so that Superman offers to drop Krypto off every once and a while for Krypto and Bob to hang out (in one part because he always wants to help, the other part being that he's just happy to get this insane dog out of his hands)

the team, though they love Krypto, immediately go "NO" and then, "We'll bring Bob to you…….. (please god do not leave us with this dog again)"

teeny bit of sentryagent because im a whore for this pairing

bob insisting on spoiling the dog with whatever food/treats John has made for Krypto and John going, "no, the dogs already poorly trained enough as it is." and bob just :( and John folds Immediately

john, despite how wild and unruly Krypto is, always takes a sort of gentle tone with the dog whenever he thinks no one is watching. this dog could probably break him in half but john treats Krypto, almost… like a baby. bob definitely does NOT feel some type of way about that… not at all…

very silly but imagine. accidental flying lessons. bob latches onto krypto as he starts flying around, and krypto escapes the tower. john proceeds to be the only one able to keep up with them (via using his super serum strength to hop buildings) as Krypto and Bob fly around the city

maybe…. bob is still getting a grasp on his powers atp but then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees john slip and plummet towards the ground. out of instinct, almost, he's there. holding john midair, "woah! okay! maybe we stay on solid ground from now on, okay, big guy?"

john does not swoon. definitely not. (insert him screaming into his pillow later that night and giggling and kicking his feet)

[bumblingbabooshka]

Thinking about marriage/women's rights on Vulcan Some may think that T'Pring not being allowed to divorce Spock was because he was going through the pon farr but if she were allowed to divorce him at all she probably would have done that a long time ago, confirmed by T'Pol when she's speaking with Koss, who isn't suffering from the pon farr. She says that he can choose another mate (without invoking a fight it seems: note the difference between a 'mate' and a 'challenger') and after he makes it clear that nothing she says will change his mind about marrying her, she finally threatens to declare a kal-if-fee. It's clear that Vulcan women cannot divorce/refuse to marry a man they've been betrothed to under any circumstances if A) He himself doesn't consent to ending their marriage or B) She doesn't have someone else waiting in the wings to be given to in his stead. Though, if the challenger she selects fails to win the fight, she'll have to marry her betrothed anyway unless (again) he decides he doesn't want her after the challenge. That seems like an incredibly unfair system, heavily biased towards men. SNW is an alternate universe in many obvious respects but most egregiously in that T'Pring has a lot of non-canonical agency over her relationship with Spock. It's interesting to me that Vulcan society has women in many positions of power and treats women as equal to men from what I've seen despite these laws. We don't really see Vulcans exhibiting a misogynistic attitude towards women in general but in TOS (perhaps because of its general writing style but it's still interesting to note) both Sarek and Spock take on patriarchal attitudes specifically regarding wives. Amanda says that 'of course' Sarek commands her because "he is a Vulcan and I am his wife." It's worthwhile in my eyes to note that she specifies 'wife' instead of attributing this attitude to women as a whole. Again, with TOS' writing style it wouldn't be out of place for her to say "he is a man and I am a woman." Spock, while in a pon farr induced irritation, states that it's "undignified for a woman to play servant to a man that isn't hers" - again implying that there's something specific about being a Wife in Vulcan society which is different from being a woman in general and demands subservience to a husband. This could perhaps stem from the extreme sense of ownership that Vulcan law has permitted men to have over women. A woman legally cannot point blank refuse marriage. There is no option which guarantees she won't have to marry her betrothed other than death. When T'Pau speaks of T'Pring she refers to her as being 'property' and Stonn, before being interrupted, states he's made 'the ancient claim' - we don't know what this is because he gets cut off but it's obvious they're both using the language of Vulcan law. Men are permitted true freedom to choose. If a woman wants to choose someone else to be with there is no option available to her other than the kal-if-fee which might result in the death of the one she wants to be with. And, if her lover fails, her husband can still just decide he wants to marry her and she'll be forced to. T'Pring gives two scenarios: One where Spock 'frees' her and one where he doesn't - it's still ultimately his decision which is clear when he ends the conversation with "Stonn, she is yours." This again isn't just because of the pon farr as T'Pol also goes through this. Koss can choose another mate and when the option is talked about there's no implication that this would result in any sort of fight (both by the casualness of its mention and by the fact that there's no formal word for it unlike the kal-if-fee.) Also, the fact that Koss does eventually grant T'Pol a divorce and it's all fine means that T'Pol isn't lawfully required to have another man waiting if her HUSBAND doesn't want her. It's ONLY required if SHE doesn't want her husband. Tradition must take precedence over individual desire UNLESS!!! You're a man. Then it's fine. Like, your parents might not be happy but legally you're golden.

[notannascribbles]

I will like actually never get over the choice to have marinette break adrien's rings in werepapas. without trying any other options. without any hesitation except for a slight look of concern on her face. and seeing her visually express concern/relief communicates to us that she knew there was a risk of her hurting/killing adrien there. and she just. did it anyway? without even trying to help millie break the akumatization herself? makes it hard for me to even like. understand marinette's characterization at all. she's committed to doing All This out of love for adrien but is also willing to quickly gamble his life in a situation with no other clear path forward? this decision, from the girl whose defining character traits are love, creativity, intelligence, and determination? she couldn't think of a way to navigate that situation that didn't involve risking her boyfriend's existence? most baffling writing choice of all time. borderline character assassination. to me.

[instantpansies]

life is hard for us oz fans who are only meh about wicked. have half a meme.

[karmicpunishment]

playboy!ace stuff or like super flirty ace content is always so funny to me because I literally cannot imagine him like that with someone he isn't at least semi-close to or needs something from. like I cannot picture him trying to hit on strangers or smth for the life of me like it just does not seem in character to me lol I get the idea of him fumbling BAD is funny though like he just does not seem like he. cares about that??? like I can't see him hitting on random girls or going out of his way to find a relationship, both canonically or my own headcanon-y space.

but seriously, no hate to anyone who does subscribe to this subgenre of hc, I respect you 100%, we're just like two ships passing in the night <3 also ace fumbling memes are very funny never stop making them please

[astro-b-o-y-d]

If I say Ford should be allowed to exist as an imperfect victim of abuse without being shamed for falling for that abuse while also being allowed to be viewed as an ass at points, will the fandom flay me alive on both sides?

[komsomolka]

yaoi readers astonish me. how come these people slutshame seme (just to hate on him specially not even being frustrated at the trope) for sleeping around (instead of being faithful to the teenage situationship where the other party cut him off?) while swooning over the second lead ship with groomeresque dynamic just because the the dude is hot or whatever🤣 how does this moral police even work. more ironic is how they completely miss the point author makes regarding seoins debauched lifestyle when it's self admittedly him "falling to the rock bottom". dude calls himself a whore in self deprecating way multiple times. like he clearly gave up on himself and thinks that's what the only way of being he deserves and capable of. god forbid seme to have depression and self medicate.

[runebears]

sorry im just thinking about bcs but like. why not add a few smaller scenes of gus interacting with his own men? why does it seem like, in comparison, mike is almost immediately elevated to a higher status than those two in bcs purely because we actually get to see him having normal conversations with gus? like i understand they might not keep the plot moving as well because of the fact obviously if victor is currently doing something it’s because gus told him to etc. but for the most part all of the smaller interactions gus does have with those two ends up being in a somewhat high stress situation where it feels very tense between everyone. and it’s just like damn! is it always like that?? why do those two even care that much about their jobs if their boss is a bit of a dick? etc. i think even an additional scene or two with those guys (either alone or the both of them) talking with gus in a more normal situation could’ve both added a bit more depth into how gus treats his employees (we got a lot with how he treats lyle and co., but not a whole lot with the illegal side of things), how comfortable vic and tyrus feel around him in a calmer setting, and exactly why they both feel the need to be as loyal as they are to the guy.

and also on the other side of this i don't think it'd hurt to maybe elaborate on their pay just a bit..? i'm not saying to randomly put a number out into the atmosphere but i just mean some smaller things like. do they buy nicer things for themselves? what's their housing situation? what's their car situation? are the escalade / yukon their own vehicles or does gus just use those two for business situations? do they use them when they're doing their own stuff off the clock or do they have their own cars? etc. that can also help with understanding their motivations a bit. don't get me wrong i don't think they should be visibly rich or something because that's not what gus would want but just smaller things! cause it's easy to write their loyalty off as Well they probably get paid super well, which i'm sure is true, but if they don't show a single hint of that then what's the point. even something as simple as giving tyrus a nice watch, or maybe victor having a nicer looking gun, etc. something small like that. because as it stands right now the average 41 year old viewer who watched the show once only knows and will only ever know victor and tyrus as those two guys in the background who do random stuff for gus with no clear motivation. just the personification of "On it boss (salute emoji)". and to be honest this is true for a whole lot of fans who do watch the show multiple times and enjoy thinking about it more in depth, because on screen we barely have anything about the two.

and to be clear i'm not trying to say we should have an episode just for them or something like no i understand they're side characters. i understand we don't need all that. and i understand this is also primarily Jimmy's show. but it's not like these two are on the same level as like, arlo or paige and kevin etc. these guys have been around since brba. victor was literally introduced in the same episode gus was. and they are a huge part of gus's story, especially in brba. s4 wouldn't have been what it was without victor and tyrus. and in bcs, ignacio's situation wouldn't have been the same if it weren't for victor and tyrus as well. and i just personally believe that if their goal with gus in bcs was to go back and elaborate on how everything came to be and show what he was like a few years younger, they could've dragged victor and tyrus into that. and i think his character would've benefited from taking that extra step with those two.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[mothbeasts]

unpopular ieytd headcanons? /nm

seeing as I've dedicated myself to being the world's biggest fabricator enjoyer (joke). i think it will be obvious who i'll take the opportunity to talk about :] with some other headcanons thrown in also.

I think a lot of my Fabricator headcanons count as "unpopular" if only because not many people talk about her in general. The first thing that came to mind for me is that I personally headcanon her as trans for no reason other than I'm trans and my favorite characters get hit with my beam attacks. I also think she's not really mean once you get to know her - She's much more relaxed around friends, it's just that she has. One friend total, maybe two if we're being generous with the definition of friend. And I just generally see her as a different kind of "mean" than other people seem to, if that makes sense? She has fun with it, yeah, but she has reasons and such. even if those reasons can be petty. I don't know if she enjoys drama for drama's sake, she's got a reputation to uphold and all. She uses more subtle verbal attacks, sarcasm and such.

Another unpopular headcanon, but for Agent Phoenix this time: My Phoenix is a lesbian. Got them with my beam attack also. I also tend to see them as less... Chaotic? They're cautious, taking their time to figure out the situation. They do still put things in their mouth though. That's important to me.

[ineffectualdemon]

Since the OP made their post unrebloggable (and blocked me. Both actions they are well in with their right to do)

I'm going to make my response it's own post because I think the point is important

-

As someone who is autistic and has BPD and CPTSD and loads of trauma yes you sometimes need to change how you interact with others to keep people around

When I was 13 I hit the few friends I had when I was angry

I had to change that in order to keep those friendships

When I was in my early 20s if I was losing an disagreement with my husband I would threaten to kill myself. My husband told me it hurt him and was cruel and manipulative behaviour, because it was.

So I worked hard to change that to keep my relationship

It's easy to say "I shouldn't have to change for others" and that's true to an extent. You shouldn't change your interests or passions or dim your light. And you should have space to be imperfect and flawed and not have to pretend your ugly bits aren't real. But if something you are doing it causing other people harm you kinda need to change that.

That's called "living in a society"

People adapt to each other and make space for each other in their lives. You adapt to them and they adapt to you

You start being more diligent about throwing away the empty toilet roll because it really bothers them. They start warning you before they run the blender because you hate loud noises

I stopped threatening to kill myself because I was mad I was losing an argument and my husband stopped being so vocally judgemental amount media he personally dislikes

There is a certain type of person who heard the phrase "your emotions are valid" and took that to mean "my emotional reactions and my behaviour are always objectively correct because my emotions are valid and if you have an emotional response or react to what I'm doing negatively then you are wrong and you can't be hurt because my emotions are valid"

And that's a recipe for disaster

Your emotions are valid to feel. They are how you feel and there are reasons you feel the way you do

However, your reactions and behaviour are something you can learn to control and can be irrational

We live in a society and we as people change each other as we interact and that isn't necessarily a bad thing

[tracksidebaby]

Reputation

Summary: YN LN, daughter of Red Bull Racing CEO, has always been a PR team's worst headache, this is especially true when she takes interest in McLaren driver Lando Norris.

Requested / YES - requests are open

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: danielricciardo, maxverstappen1, and 4,792,901 others

yn.ln: headlines say i'm out of control....okay and???

username: fuck she's hot

username: iconic really

username: why are all the f1 guys in the likes?

| username: she's the ceo of rbr's daughter and a pr nightmare

username: is she ever sober?

username: say what you want about her but the way she just does not gaf is so funny

username: get this bitch away from f1

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 2,392,901 others

yn.ln: Told my dad I was networking. Just threw up in a Ferrari bin and flirted with a cute McLaren driver.

username: god i wish that was me

username: showing up in the paddock hungover and flirting, icon

username: ok but the real question is is she talking about lando???

| username: no she can stay the fuck away from him

danielricciardo: never seen someone look so good throwing up

| yn.ln: choosing to ignore the fact you saw me throwing up in favour of the fact that you think im hot

lando: she thinks i'm cute guys

Instagram /

liked by: danielricciardo, yn.ln, maxverstappen1, and 8,792,901 others

lando: always nice to meet the fans

username: STOP IS THAT YN?!?

username: not him calling yn a fan 💀

username: wtf is that bitch doing on his instagram

| yn.ln: right!?!? what a bitch

| lando: yn 🤦🏻‍♂️

yn.ln: couldn't catch me DEAD being a mclaren fan

| lando: give it time you'll be repping that papaya

Instagram /

liked by: lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 2,792,901 others

yn.ln: drinks on dad's card 🥂🍾

username: she's a brat but at least she knows it ig

username: THAT'S LANDO!!

| username: get a life

| username: girl im telling you its lando, he was seen out in a hoodie like that

| username: ok but what business does she have with lando like that, stay the fuck away

username: not yall thinking yn ln is soft launching a relationship have you seen this girl, shes a mess

| username: fr shes a one night stand and see you never type of girl

danielricciardo: invite me next time

| yn.ln: you're always invited ricciardo, especially if you bring that cute mclaren driver

| lando: cancelling all my plan in case you call

| yn.ln: ok taylor swift

| username: iconic.

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 3,792,901 others

yn.ln: you wish you were me rn

username: i can't stand her but god she's real with that caption

username: imagine her having life, spoilt brat who drinks every day funded by daddy, just partying with the f1 grid

danielricciardo: wow we're hot

| yn.ln: right?

lando: so hungover, so worth it

| yn.ln: hungover?? that was just the warm up for tonight, norris

| lando: i am not surviving you

Instagram /

liked by: yn.ln, danielricciardo, mclaren and 8,792,901 others

lando: what a way to die

username: ok dont hate me when i say it BUT i kind of like them together

| username: right like i think he'd be really good for her

yn.ln: come on the hangover cant be that bad

| lando: it is.

| yn.ln: well you know what they say, practice makes perfect. see you tonight norris!

| username: she doesnt give a fuck i love it

username: ew this bitch again 🤮

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 4,792,901 others

yn.ln: BREAKING: yn ln ruins lando norris' reputation by going clubbing like he isn't a grown man who makes his own choices. also: lando norris cannot handle his drink

lando: honestly im blaming you to pr

| yn.ln: go for it, everyone else blames me

| lando: drama queen

| yn.ln: this is new information to you?

| lando: not even close

| yn.ln: just bring me my food Norris

| lando: anything for you 🙄

| username: wtf did i just read

username: she really said fuck you f1 twitter

username:  i love lando i hate her but you cant deny theyre hot together

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, yn.ln, mclaren and 9,792,901 others

lando: life away from the track

username: she made it into the dump

username:  noooooooooo

username:  fuck her

| yn.ln: right!?!!

username: not a chance hes with her

| username: right it's def pr to make her look better

| username: be so fr how the fuck would that work it doesn't benefit lando being around her

yn.ln: nooo not this bitch making it onto the dump 😭

| lando: what is wrong with you

| yn.ln: so so much

| lando: absolute muppet

username: who cares who he dates???

| username: bc shes the worst

| username: why because she goes out and drinks??

| username: it's not just that she drinks shes a spoilt entitled brat who thinks the world owes her something

| yn.ln: real

| lando: stop @/yn.ln

| yn.ln: never

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: yn.ln, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 10,792,901 others

lando: back on track

username: not her being snuck into the dump again 😤😤

username:  no wtf

username: why couldnt it have been anyone else

username: wait why does she look so pretty like this

yn.ln: what. the. fuck. is that picture

yn.ln: i have a reputation norris

| lando: please that reputation is so fake

| yn.ln: NORRIS

| lando: 🙂

| yn.ln: im blocking you wow

username: not her being more worried about her cold girl act 😭

Instagram /

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 5,792,901 others

yn.ln: fuck lando norris

username: girl i would if i could

| yn.ln: real

| username: and wtf does that mean

lando: sorry guys, she's heartless really

| yn.ln: damn right

| lando: muppet

| username: ok they're kind of in love

| username: i hate it BUTTT

username:  iconic flipping off lando norris tho

| yn.ln: deserved

| lando: for posting ONE cute picture of you!?

| yn.ln: i don't do cute norris

| lando: lmao tell that to you waking up in the morning

| username: WHAT

lando: also you're welcome for picking you up from the club at 5am

Twitter /

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liked by: yn.ln, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 11,792,901 others

lando: she doesn't do cute apparently

maxfewtrell: happy for you mate

| lando: cheers mate

| maxfewtrell: hope you don't get killed for this post tho

| lando: I waited til she was asleep to post

| maxfewtrell: praying for you mate

username:  ooooo shes gonna hate this post

username:  wait why is she bearable like this

username: wow are we sure this is yn

| username: fr theres no drink in her hand

username: lando norris taming yn ln wtf

| lando: she doesn't need taming

| username: HOLY SHIT

yn.ln: wow. ok. what. the. fuck. am i waking up to

yn.ln: delete this shit

| lando: not a chance

| lando: let me be soft

| yn.ln: this isn't you being soft this is ME being soft 🤮

| lando: god forbid

| yn.ln youre so so lucky youre cute

| lando: and that i buy all of your drinks

| yn.ln: well yeah that as well

username: nooooo wtf is she doing her like this

| username: lando seriously needs to get a grip this girl will ruin in life and reputation

| yn.ln: im with these people, delete this bitch from your insta @/lando

| lando: never

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 9,792,901 others

yn.ln: ruining lando norris' reputation one post at a time

username: lando posting a well crafted soft launch < yn hard launching them making out

username: ok i was a hater but i acc like this girl

lando: seriously

| yn.ln: you post me being soft. i post this.

| yn.ln: i have a brand norris

| lando: post what you want if it means I can keep posting too

| yn.ln: not sure i love this deal but i do love being a pr nightmare

| lando: you're the worst

| yn.ln: no shit

| username: obsessed that she still just calls him Norris

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: yn.ln, maxfewtrell, mclaren and 11,792,901 others

lando: what a special weekend, p1 for you baby, @/yn.ln

username: him dedicating his win to her 😭

username: noooooo we've lost him

username: honestly i've been converted

| username: no bc did you see her screaming for him when he won

| username: right she was jumping and clapping, reputation clearly out of the window

| username: his mum was looking at her like she was something special

| username: if Cisca approves then im on board

| username: she was actually weirdly cute cheering him on

yn.ln: im about to be soft on the main and youre all gonna stfu about it but LANDO!!! BABY!!! IM SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU OMG 😭😭

| username: damn who the hell is this girl

| lando: i love you, thank you for being here love

maxfewtrell: good company to watch you win

| yn.ln: the best company

| lando: so you'll be soft with my best mate but not me, ok??

| maxfewtrell: clearly she has a favourite

| yn.ln: i said i was proud of you, don't push it

Instagram /

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 11,792,901 others

yn.ln: my bf is so much hotter and so much better than yours

username: cant even argue with that caption (sorry to my boyfriend if you see this)

username: real

username: his victory post was so cute, hers is.... well its there

username: still cant stand her but damn shes feeding us with these hot lando pics

| yn.ln: here to provide for the haters 🫡💋

username: i know every time she posts landos pr team dreads opening this app

| lando: they do

| yn.ln: god i love knowing that

lando: i love you so much

| yn.ln: you're alright i suppose

| username: dead

| lando: just want everyone to know she messaged me saying she is in love with me

| yn.ln: you have no proof of this

Instagram /

liked by: yn.ln, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 15,792,901 others

lando: proof

username: he really said you want reciepts?

yn.ln: wow you really did that to me, five years of a well crafted reputation down the drain

| lando: that reputation was hanging on by a thread love

| yn.ln: sorry im gonna have to cancel our date this weekend bc i have to go get shit faced and cause a massive scandal

| lando: i'll drive

yn.ln: deleting my account forever

| lando: who would give the pr teams a headache

| yn.ln: fuck the pr teams you just exposed me my life is ruined

| lando: god i love you

username: ok maybe i like them maybe shes not just using lando

username: im obsessed with them

yn.ln: 🧡

[iamactuallysocute]

I absolutely LOVED your Saja boys x assistant for your writing is honestly amazing 🙏

Sooo I wanted to know if I can ask for another one 🙏

If you don't mind can you do a scenario or story (not actually sure what it's called) for kpop demon hunters, the Saja boys when your secretly dating one of their members like Abby or Romance or baby (you can pick, or do 2 or both of them) and your apart of Huntrix and they find out and their reaction isn't good.

THANK YOU 🤍💜

HUNTR/X FINDING OUT YOU’RE DATING A SAJA BOY

cw: mentions of sex and rewinds of sex so we can technically say nsfw, secret relationships, arguments, cursing—and tell me if I missed something

PLOT: Three hunters? History says four! At least in this universe it sure does, because you’re a member of HUNTR/X, a beautiful sweetheart, the dream girl actually. That’s the exact reason a Saja Boy had interest in you. And that Saja Boy is…

JINU

It started like a joke. Like the dumb kind of thing you whisper to yourself when you’re three drinks deep after a long night of demon slaying, bruised, blood-splattered, and sore in all the wrong places, “Wouldn’t it be so stupid if I let that cocky little shit Jinu kiss me?”

Except you did. And you let him do a lot more than that.

You know damn well this is wrong.

You’re supposed to hate the Saja Boys.

But then there’s Jinu.

Oh, Jinu.

You know better. You do. But you also know how he kissed you the first time, like he was starving for it, like he’d been thinking about it for weeks, that you’ve been driving him crazy.

Every time you sneak off, telling Mira you’ve got to “clear your head”, lying to Zoey about meeting friends, making up some bullshit mission Rumi would definitely sniff out if she wasn’t so busy being ten times the badass you pretend to be, you end up in Jinu’s room. Usually on his lap. Sometimes against a wall. Once in the backseat of a staff car, which, honestly, was way too cramped for the kind of shit he wanted to try. (But did you complain? No. You just bit his shoulder to muffle the sounds.)

You keep saying it’ll be the last time. Every single time, you tell yourself:

This is it. I’m cutting it off. I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s a demon. I’ll kill him when we’re done.

And every single time, you end up under him again, hips rolling, nails dragging down his back while he whispers filth.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Every second with him is a risk. If Zoey finds out? She’ll be furious. If Rumi finds out? You’re dead. If Mira finds out? You might wish you were.

But fuck… it feels good to be wanted like that.

So no. You’re not telling the girls. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Because that boy is a demon, still.

You can see it in the yellow flickers in his eyes when too much happens to his body. The way his voice changes when he’s angry, the shadow under his skin when his temper spikes, like there’s something inside him, snarling.

Because there is. Gwi-Ma.

You hate that freak. You really, truly do.

He’s not always loud, but when he is, you feel so bad for Jinu.

Sometimes, you’ll catch Jinu zoning out—just for a second—and when he blinks back into himself, there’s this… weight. A bitter taste in the air. You know it’s Gwi-Ma.

You’ll be tangled in Jinu’s sheets, your mouth on his throat, your nails digging into his ribs while he gasps, and then suddenly he’ll choke out a laugh. You’ll ask, “What?” thinking you did something good, and he’ll groan, cover his face and mutter, “Ignore him.”

Like??? Fuck off, Gwi-Ma. (He also once called you “delicious,” which Jinu immediately apologized for by dropping to his knees and staying there for a long time. It helped.)

There was also that one time you were straddling Jinu on the couch in his dressing room, and he went real still, eyes distant, and then just groaned, “Shut the fuck up.” into your neck.

But here’s the thing. Gwi-Ma’s always there—always. Jinu can’t shake him, can’t silence him, not completely. And yet… you don’t feel the urge to pull a blade on him. Not like you would with anything else that dark and dangerous.

You should. You know that. Every instinct in your hunter-trained, scar-hardened body should scream put it down before it turns on you.

But you don’t.

Because the truth is? The demon’s a parasite. But Jinu? Jinu’s not the demon. He’s the boy fighting it. Every single day. You see it when his eyes flash for just a second and he has to swallow it down. You see it in the way he looks at you, like he’s scared you’ll see it, too. The rot inside. The crack in the mirror.

But you already do.

And you love him anyway.

No, wait, you didn’t mean to say that. Not even in your own head. But it’s out here now.

You love him.

He hasn’t said it. Not out loud. But you know. You know by the way he touches you when he thinks you’re asleep. Soft fingertips, trailing your spine, memorizing the shape of you. You know by how he always lets you go first when you argue, even if he hates it. By the way he flinches when you joke about your death like it’s just another occupational hazard.

And sometimes? When you least expect it, he says shit that almost counts.

Like, “I’d burn the world down if anything happened to you.”

Or, “I like who I am when I’m around you. I don’t hear him as much when you’re close.”

And maybe that’s what really fucks you up.

You thought you were just in it for the heat. For the adrenaline. For the sex and the secrecy and the thrill of knowing you were doing something very bad with someone very pretty.

But now? You’re in deeper.

Worse, so is he.

You’re full on dating. Dating dating.

You should be enemies.

Instead, you’re in his bed.

Heart beating fast.

Shirt already half-off.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the last light he can still see in the dark.

You don’t trust this.

You don’t trust yourself.

But when he kisses you, slow and scared and wanting, the demon in him quiet for just a second?

You let him have you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You also like the tiger. Or cat. Or tiger-cat. Whatever. You still don’t even know what to call it.

You remember the first time you saw it, you thought it was some kind of hellbeast and went for your blade, and Jinu was like, “Waitwaitwait, he’s chill.”

And now? You’ll be at Jinu’s place, half-naked, trying to sneak in a post-mission quickie, and suddenly there’s a 600-pound animal flopping on your legs like it’s a house cat.

Like, sir. Please.

Your vibe is adorable but your mass is inconvenient.

It loves to curl around the both of you like some kind of living, purring barrier. It’d be cozy if it didn’t also come with the crushing weight of “You move, you die.”

And then there’s the bird that hates everyone. Except Jinu. And sometimes, very begrudgingly, you. But only if you bring food. Or if you’re crying, which you hate that he knows. The bird is weirdly intelligent like that.

Sometimes he lands on your shoulder and just sits there while you and Jinu are talking. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t squawk. Just watches. It’s unsettling, but Jinu swears it’s a sign of affection. (You’re not totally convinced it’s not reconnaissance.)

Then, you got caught, babe.

Now, you’re wearing a little shirt that barely reaches your navel and a little black thong. You’re barefoot on your balcony, one hand resting on the railing, the other clutching a soda you don’t even really want. Your legs are sore, your back hurts, your lip’s still split from earlier, and the last thing you need is—

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You jolt. Turn.

“What the fuck, Jinu?” you hiss, slamming your soda down and rushing to him. “What are you—how did you even get up here?!”

He’s grinning. Soft, smug, absolutely useless in his very kissable way.

“Teleported.” he says. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

“Jinu. They’re home.”

“And?”

He says it so easy. So breezy. Like your heart isn’t trying to hammer through your ribs. You grab him by the arm and drag him fully onto the balcony, pressing him into the wall so he’s out of sight from the windows. Your face is close to his now, too close.

His eyes flick down your body, lazy but appreciative. “You’re not exactly dressed for company.”

You slap his chest. “Don’t make me push you off this building.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to die.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. Your hand’s still on his chest, and he’s warm under your palm. Steady. Calm. Like nothing can touch him, not even the hurricane that’s about to slam into your life when this secret finally gets out.

“You’re insane for coming here.” you murmur, quieter now. “What if they see you?”

“I missed you.”

That’s it. No drama. No poetic nonsense. Just those three words, spoken so plainly you feel the ground shift under you.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. Your hand drifts up, fingers brushing the curve of his jaw. “You couldn’t just text? Send a letter with your cat?”

“I needed to see you.”

He leans in, just a little, and you follow because of course you do. His lips brush yours once, just a ghost of a kiss, and it’s enough to turn your knees to—

Gasp.

You freeze.

The sound comes from inside the room.

Both of you turn your heads just in time to see the door swing open, Zoey standing there, eyes wide, mouth fully agape.

“…oh my god.” she breathes.

Then the door slams shut again.

“Oh my god.” you echo, gripping the balcony railing like it’s going to save your soul. “Oh my god. Jinu. She saw you. She saw us.”

“She didn’t knock.” Jinu says, baffled.

“WHY WOULD SHE KNOCK? IT’S MY ROOM.”

You whirl on him, panic spiking like adrenaline in your veins. Your whole face is on fire. Your body’s moving already, ushering him toward the edge of the balcony, trying to think, to fix, to stop the bleeding of this moment from leaking into the rest of your life.

“She’s going to tell Rumi. Mira. Bobby. She’s going to tell everyone. Oh my god.”

“Okay.” Jinu says, still infuriatingly relaxed. “And?”

“And?!”

He’s smiling again, like this is funny, like you’re just being dramatic. He has no idea how bad this is. You shove him toward the railing with a hand to the back of his head, not hard, just enough to make him stumble.

“Go.” you hiss. “Go, now. I’ll fix it.”

“You’re gonna ‘fix’ getting caught half naked with me on your balcony?” he laughs, holding the ledge like he’s deciding whether to leap or wait for you to calm down.

You swat the back of his head again.

He laughs harder.

And somehow… somehow, that helps.

Because he’s not scared. He’s not shaking like you are, imagining Rumi’s furious stare or Mira’s disappointment or Zoey’s lethal level gossip abilities. He’s just… there. Present. Unbothered.

You exhale hard. Press your forehead to his chest for just a second. He lets you. His hands come up, hold your waist gently, swaying with you.

“Go.” you whisper again. “Please.”

He nods. Serious now. The playfulness fades, just a little. He cups your cheek, presses one last kiss to your lips, then steps back over the balcony’s edge.

And disappears.

You’re left standing there. Heart racing. Lips tingling. Whole body humming like you’ve been plugged into an outlet.

Inside, you hear footsteps.

Voices.

Loud ones.

Zoey’s already telling them.

“Shit.” you breathe, dragging a hand through your hair. “Shit shit shit.”

But even with the panic creeping up again, you can’t stop the small, ridiculous smile that curls onto your face.

Because that dumb, beautiful demon boy came here just to see you.

You don’t even bother throwing on shorts. Just storm out of your room in the tiny shirt and thong you were already wearing, not because you’re trying to prove a point, but because fuck it, the point already proved itself.

You race down the hallway, barefoot, still breathless from the sheer velocity of your panic. The walls feel like they’re closing in with every step. And as you reach the living room, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Zoey’s perched on the arm of the couch. Her popcorn is real. You knew she’d have popcorn.

Mira’s sitting, arms crossed over her chest, legs crossed. Her expression isn’t angry. Not yet. Worse, it’s disappointed.

Rumi’s standing. Her arms are crossed too, and her face is blank in that terrifying way that says: I haven’t decided whether to scream or murder someone.

You stop cold in the doorway.

“…hi.”

No one answers.

You laugh. Short. Nervous. “Okay. So. Surprise?”

Zoey makes a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a cackle. “Surprise? GIRL.”

Rumi’s voice cuts through, quiet and sharp. “Sit down.”

You glance around. “I’m, uh, I’m not really dressed for a—”

“SIT.”

You sit.

“Zoey saw Jinu.” Mira says, voice like ice water down your back. “On your balcony. With you. And not in a friendly way.”

“Wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, hun.” Zoey adds, tossing popcorn in her mouth.

“Zoey.” Rumi scolds gently.

Zoey zips it. Barely. She’s vibrating with drama high. Her foot’s tapping. She’s dying to see how this plays out.

Mira leans forward. “How long.”

You blink. “What?”

Mira’s eyes are lasers. “How. Long. Has this been going on.”

You swallow. “…A while.”

“A while?” Rumi explodes, stepping forward. “Define ‘a while,’ because ‘a while’ sounds like weeks, and if this has been going on while we were out risking our asses, while we were fighting off demons and you were texting your little boyfriend under the table, I need to know that before I go to prison for launching a sword through the next Saja concert.”

You flinch. “Okay, whoa, let’s not—”

“WAS HE AT THE CEMETERY FIGHT?” Zoey blurts, her eyes wide. “Because you said you were on break that day and he was also conveniently there! Oh my god—were you hooking up behind the mausoleum while I was getting bit by that demon?”

“That was one time.” you snap.

“You just admitted it!” Zoey screams, victorious.

“Okay, enough.” Rumi says, holding up a hand. She turns back to you. “Is it serious?”

And you freeze.

Because there’s the real question.

They’re not just mad about the secret. They’re mad because they know what this means. You don’t sneak around for fun. You lie to protect. So if you were protecting him…

Then you weren’t protecting them.

“I care about him.” you say softly. “It wasn’t just sex. It isn’t. He’s not—”

“He’s a demon.” Mira says, flat. Cold. “End of sentence.”

“He’s not—” you start, then stop. Because okay. Yes. He is. But not the way they mean. “There’s something inside him, yes. Gwi-Ma. But Jinu’s fighting it. Every day. He’s—he’s not evil. He’s not one of the monsters we hunt.”

“And what if he loses that fight?” Rumi asks, quiet again. “What if the thing inside him gets stronger? What if you become the liability?”

Your throat closes. Because that’s the worst part, you’ve already thought about all of that. And it still wasn’t enough to stop you.

“I know what I’m doing.” you whisper. “I know.”

“Do you?” Rumi growls. “Because it looks like you’re playing house with a demon.”

“Rumi, stop—”

“No. You lied to us.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You chose him.”

Yeah. You did. Over and over again. Every night you crept out, every time you let him touch you, every second you looked at his face and thought, maybe this could last, you were choosing him.

Even if it meant eventually losing them.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” you say, finally.

“Too late.” Mira mutters.

“Wait.” Zoey says. “Did you say Gwi-Ma? Like the actual Gwi-Ma?”

“Yeah.” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Lives in his head. Won’t shut up. Kind of an asshole.”

Everyone’s silent again.

And then, Zoey: “…Does he also do the tongue thing when he kisses you? Like he looks like he does the tongue thing.”

You close your eyes. “Zoey.”

Rumi sighs. Mira pinches the bridge of her nose. And slowly, slowly, the tension in the room starts to loosen. Not dissolve. Not disappear. But… loosen. There’s still tension in the air. Still betrayal.

“You know we’re supposed to kill them. Right?” Rumi says, loud and clear so you hear it.

You have heard it. You’ve heard it a hundred times. In debriefs, in Zoey’s snide jokes, in the way Mira files her knives after watching Saja Boys interviews with a dead stare. You’ve said it yourself. Weeks ago.

You knew what they were. You knew they weren’t human. And your girls have been tracking, prepping, moving toward this for weeks.

And meanwhile?

You’ve been sleeping with the mark.

“I know.” you say, barely above a whisper.

“You knew.” Mira corrects, her voice a blade.

“I know.” you repeat, louder now. “And I didn’t—I didn’t plan for this. It wasn’t some operation gone rogue. It wasn’t a trick. It just—”

“You tripped and fell onto his dick, huh?” Zoey says, sharp and bitter.

You shut your eyes. “Zoey, not now.”

“No, I really wanna know.” she goes on. “Did you just accidentally fall in love with a guy who’s literally got a demon whispering murder in his ear while we’ve been training to put his head on a spike? Because that’s wild.”

“What was your plan?” Rumi asks, not looking at you. “What was the endgame here? That we’d kill his bandmates but leave him alone because you like his face?”

“No.” you snap, the sharpness surprising even you. “God, no. You think I don’t know how this looks? You think I haven’t been ripping myself apart every night over this? I know what we’re doing. I know what he is. But you don’t know him. Not like I do.”

“Enlighten us.” Mira says, icily. “Please.”

You blink fast, trying to push the burn out of your eyes. You weren’t gonna cry, you swore you wouldn’t, but the pressure’s building.

Silence.

Rumi closes her eyes like she’s trying not to hit something. Mira sits back. Her face has gone to that scary-silent-assassin look that means her brain is moving three steps ahead of everyone else. Finally, she says: “So when it’s time to take them out… what happens then?”

You stare at her. You hate how cold she sounds. You hate how reasonable it is.

Because that is the question, isn’t it?

What do you do when it’s your sword, and his neck, and no one else to make the call but you?

“I don’t know.” you admit, soft. “I don’t know yet.”

“That’s not good enough.” Rumi says, voice rising. “You’re not just putting yourself at risk. You’re putting us at risk. What if he turns on us mid-mission? What if he uses you to get ahead of us? What if this whole time—”

“He wouldn’t.” you say quickly. “He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt any of you.”

“You can’t know that.” Mira says.

“I do.”

And you do. Deep down. Where all the fear and doubt and guilt live, even under all of that, you know.

He wouldn’t let them touch you.

And he wouldn’t touch them.

Not unless they tried to kill him.

Which they… will.

Soon.

Zoey stands again and walks across the room, pacing now. “So what, we’re just supposed to ignore this? Let you keep cuddling up with your demon boyfriend while we finish the job?”

“No.” you say. “I get it. I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m not even asking you to like me right now. I just… I just need you to understand. I’m not choosing sides. I’m choosing truth. Jinu’s not a monster. Not yet. And I don’t think he ever will be.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Then, softly, Mira asks: “But what if you’re wrong?”

You look at her. Look at all of them.

And you don’t have an answer.

ABBY

Look. You’re supposed to kill him. Let’s be very clear about that. The Saja Boys are your target. You’ve watched them on stage, off-stage.

The first time you saw him, shirtless and grinning, was some training clip Rumi pulled up on the mission table, purely for recon (allegedly), and even then, you felt your spine short-circuit.

He looked like a human weapon.

Except he wasn’t human.

And you weren’t supposed to want the weapon.

But, you know. Whoops.

He’s huge (like, throw-you-around-the-room, bench-press-you-during-foreplay huge). Arms like steel, voice like “what’s up, babe?” and a smile so cocky it should be registered as an actual threat.

You hated him at first.

You hated him… until you didn’t.

Until one night after a bad mission, your ribs aching, pride worse, your blood still up and nothing in the world feeling good. And then you saw him. Leaning against a wall, flexing like he didn’t know he was doing it and voice dropping into that stupid low register like, “Hey. You okay?”

Game over.

Brain fried.

Panties? Gone.

And then, somehow, you were... kissing. In a stairwell. Covered in blood. Your blood. His blood. Something's blood. Messy. Wrong. And absolutely addictive.

Now it’s… a thing. A secret thing.

Because Abby? He makes you laugh, first of all. He says dumb shit in bed. He says dumb shit all the time. And he’s so proud of it.

And yeah. He’s a demon. You see it. He doesn’t even hide it.

There’s something in him that pulses dark. Wild. Primal. The heat in his body burns wrong sometimes. The shadows cling to him longer than they should. And there are moments, fleeting but undeniable, where he looks at you like he wants to eat you.

Not in the fun way. (Though, to be clear, he definitely wants that too.)

But in the demonic, soul-thirsty kind of way.

And yet. Somehow. You’re not afraid of it. You should be. You’re trained to be. You’ve put down lesser demons without blinking. You know what he is. But something in you doesn’t flinch.

Because under all of that darkness… you know he likes you.

He really, actually likes you. In his dumbass, show-off way.

The first time he said it, he was inside you—of course he was—panting, all flushed and cocky, and he muttered, “shit, I like you too much.” Then he tried to play it off with a kiss to your neck, followed by something heinous you don’t even remember, too busy feeling all of him.

You laughed. And then whispered, “me too.”

He knows you’re a hunter. He knows who you are, what you do. But he keeps showing up anyway. Still winks. Still pulls you into dark corners and picks you up like you weigh nothing. Still teases you like none of this is real.

He trusts you. And that terrifies you more than anything.

Because when the time comes…

When the blades are drawn…

He’s not going to fight you.

And you don’t know what you’re going to do when that moment comes.

But for now? You let him pin you to the wall and mutter, “what, you gonna slay me, hunter?” against your jaw.

Because the worst part isn’t that you’re supposed to kill him.

It’s that a small, aching part of you knows you won’t.

He does shit like carrying your bag when it’s heavy, but doesn’t make it weird. He just grabs it and then slings it over those stupid big shoulders like it weighs nothing. Flexes a little, maybe, but you let him. You even look on purpose. He likes it.

He memorizes what you order from that little noodle shop you go to after late-night sweeps. The first time he brought it to you unasked, still hot, you didn’t even know what to say. He just handed it over with a lopsided grin and went, “See? I got a brain in here.” and then tapped his temple with the chopsticks he’d stolen from the shop.

He warms his hands before touching your face. Doesn’t even think about it. Just always runs them over his neck or into his sleeves first, and then cups your cheeks.

And then there's how he watches you. Not like prey. Not like the demon in him is looking for an opening. But like... you're the funniest, hottest, most precious thing in his world and he can't believe you're even talking to him, let alone letting him see you naked on the regular.

And oh my god, he tied your shoe once. One time. You’re mid-arguing, mid-huffing about something completely irrelevant, and this man bends down, wraps those huge hands around your ankle, ties your shoe with all the careful attention of someone untangling a bomb, then slaps your thigh and stands up.

You were silent for, like, ten minutes.

You hate how much you like it. Hate it. Hate it.

But not enough to stop.

Not when he’s currently got you pressed up against cold tile, his breath warm against your throat, your thigh hiked high around his hip in the almost empty bathhouse the three of you ducked into after a hunt.

You don’t even know how it happened.

One minute, you were soaking in the women’s bathhouse while Mira and Zoey argued over whose blade got the final hit, and the next, you were in the showers and Abby was there. Shirtless. He must’ve snuck in through the back.

You didn’t even try to stop him. You should’ve.

But he’d walked up to you, dripping from a quick rinse-off, and grinned. “Damn. You clean up nice.”

And that was it. That was the moment your common sense packed her bags and left.

Now? Now you’re sandwiched between Abby and the cold wall of the bathhouse’s back corridor. Your towel’s half off, your thigh’s fully up, and Abby’s mouthing your neck like this isn’t a public facility.

“Abby.” you whisper, half-laughing, half-moaning, trying to push him back even though you’re very much not trying that hard. “They’re still here. They could come back any second.”

He just kisses lower. “Then we better make it fast, huh?”

“You’re the one taking your damn time.” you snap, trying not to laugh, and he grins against your skin.

“What can I say?” he murmurs. “My girl’s distracting.”

You shove his chest. It’s like trying to move a wall of warm concrete. “I swear, if they catch us—”

Footsteps.

Voices.

You both freeze.

You don’t see them at first. But you hear them. Zoey’s laughing about something and Mira’s voice is lower, casual, annoyed maybe, like she’s mid-eye roll. They’re just coming back from the sauna. They’ll be rounding this corridor in seconds.

You shove at Abby, harder. “Go. Go now.”

But he’s LAUGHING. The fuckass is laughing, muffling it behind that dumb smug smirk like this is the funniest shit ever.

You smack the back of his head, panicked. “Are you trying to get me killed?!”

He grins harder. “If we die like this, honestly? Worth it.”

“Abby!”

Zoey’s voice: “Wait… why’s the floor wet back here? Was someone—”

She turns the corner.

She sees you.

Sees him.

Sees you, basically naked, thigh still up, Abby shirtless and pressed into you, steam rising off both of you.

Zoey screams.

Mira slams in behind her a half-second later, silent, deadly, her eyes going wide.

Abby, still shirtless, just waves. “Hey.”

You are going to die.

“YOU.” Zoey shrieks, pointing. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

Mira? Mira’s face is stone. Pissed. Her arms are folded. Her jaw is clenched. And she’s staring directly at Abby’s glistening chest.

You, meanwhile, are red. Not pink. Not flushed. Red. Half-wrapped in a towel. Half-tangled in him. All of you exposed, literally and emotionally, in the worst way possible. You’ve barely had time to stumble back and yank your towel up around your chest when he decides to speak.

“Yo.” Abby says with the most unbothered, dumbass charm in the world. “Heeeeeeey girls.”

He actually lifts a hand. Like he didn’t just get caught shoving his demon tongue down your throat in a public women’s bathhouse.

Zoey looks like she’s about to scream a second time. Possibly kill you. Possibly him first.

And what does this stupid man say next?

“You know what,” he continues, glancing between them and then at you. “I feel like… you guys got some things to work out. Real important girl talk. Imma… just.” He gestures vaguely toward the exit, completely unapologetic. “Slide out. Give you all some space. Respectfully.”

You gape. “Abby—”

He turns, halfway out the door, then glances back at you, slow, like he’s throwing a whole-ass grenade at your friendship. And then, he calls:

“Catch you later, babe.”

Babe.

In front of them.

AND THEN THE BASTARD WINKS.

Winks, flexes without flexing, and vanishes.

You are.

So.

Fucked.

You’re clutching your towel to your chest, dripping water, heart hammering so loud it might as well be a war drum. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words. Just a stupid, guilty sound like, “Uh—”

“How long.” Mira says, deadly quiet,

You blink. “I—”

“HOW LONG?!” Zoey practically screams, her arms thrown up like she might start flinging bath sandals at you. “You’ve been sneaking off to tongue wrestle with a Saja Boy?!”

“It’s not like that—”

“Oh, it’s not?” she snaps. “Because from where I was standing? It looked exactly like that. Unless ‘chest licking in a sacred women’s bathhouse’ means something different in demon-speak.”

“Zoey.” Mira says again, voice low. “Let her talk.”

“Why?! So she can lie again?”

You feel it. The shame. The guilt. The sting of it.

Because you didn’t tell them. Not when you should’ve. Not when it started. Not after the first time. Not after the sixth. Not even after you knew it was something real, something that wasn’t going to just go away if you pretended hard enough. You stayed quiet. Let them think you were just normal. Still loyal. Still on-mission.

But you weren’t. You’d fallen into bed with the enemy, and now it’s your best friends staring at you like you’re the monster.

“Okay.” you say, quietly. “Okay. Look.” You take a breath. It comes out shaky. “Yes. It’s been going on. And yes. I know how it looks.”

“You lied to us.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“Bullshit.” Zoey hisses. “You snuck around behind our backs with the very thing we’ve sworn to eliminate. You let one of them turn you into his little secret side piece—”

“Stop.” you snap, louder than you meant to. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

Silence again.

“I’m not a side piece.” you say, quieter. “And he’s not just… whatever you think he is.”

Zoey’s expression warps into something like heartbreak. “You’re in love with him.”

You look away.

“Oh my god.” She covers her face.

“I didn’t plan for this.” you try, pleading now. “It just—it happened. And I know it’s wrong. I know what he is. But I also know what he’s not. He’s not—” You gesture weakly toward the steam he vanished into. “He’s not hurting people. Not the way we thought.”

Mira steps forward, eyes sharp. “And what happens when he does? When we take him out? What then?”

You swallow. You don’t answer. Because you don’t know. And they see that.

After the bathhouse blowout, the tension clung to your skin worse than the towel.

Mira and Zoey walked ahead of you the whole way home, Mira silent, Zoey muttering to herself in rage, still trying to process the abomination of seeing you with Abby’s abs all up in your personal space. You trailed behind, wrapped in shame, hair dripping, stomach doing flips that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with impending doom.

“Let me tell her.” you said, the second the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. “Let me tell Rumi myself.”

Mira turned to you, her jaw clenched. “You sure?”

“No.” you said. “But I’m going to.”

They just exchanged a look, silent agreement, and then headed to the kitchen like they weren’t absolutely going to lurk by the hallway to hear every single word.

You find Rumi in her room. She’s standing by the window. You almost leave. Almost. But then she turns. “You need something?”

Your throat closes.

Yeah. Just your life exploding.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask, voice trembling. “It’s… personal.”

She gestures toward the chair. You don’t sit. You can’t. You’re vibrating with nerves, practically bouncing out of your skin. You pace instead, like if you move enough, the words will come easier. They don’t.

“Okay, so—so.” you start, hands waving like you’re trying to draw the sentence into existence. “So, you’re gonna be mad. Just—please, can you let me finish first before you say anything? Just let me get it out all at once, because if I stop, I won’t say it, and I have to say it because it’s already—happened, and Zoey and Mira know, and you’re going to find out anyway, and I need it to come from me.”

Rumi’s arms cross slowly. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m dating Abby.” you blurt.

Silence.

You say it again, just to fill the space. “I’m dating Abby. From Saja. The one with the abs and the arms and the—yeah. Him.”

Still no reaction.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. It wasn’t, like, some weird betrayal thing. I didn’t go into this planning to screw around with the enemy, I swear. It just—he was there, and he’s funny, and stupid, and sweet, and he’s not like what we thought. And yeah, I know it’s a conflict of interest. I know it’s dangerous, and I know we’re supposed to be hunting them, and it’s all wrong, but it doesn’t feel wrong when I’m with him. It just feels like… mine. Like something I chose. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

You finally stop.

You wait.

“…You’re joking.”

Your heart drops. “I’m not.”

You’ve never seen Rumi this mad without even raising her voice.

“You’re sleeping with a demon.” she says, cold. “A Saja Boy. One of the five. Our primary targets.”

You flinch. “It’s not like that—”

“Did he charm you? Manipulate you? Feed off you?”

“No! Rumi, he hasn’t even—he hasn’t taken anything from me.”

“Oh, but he took you, huh?” Her voice cuts like glass. “He gets the girl, the inside scoop, the trust, and we get what? A betrayal?”

You step forward. “I didn’t betray you.”

“You didn’t tell me. You kept it a secret. You let this go on while we’ve been risking our lives—my life—hunting down his kind. You don’t think that’s betrayal?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Because you did. You did lie. Maybe not in words, but in silence.

“You’ve compromised our entire mission.” she hisses, turning her back on you. “You think this is just about sex or feelings or whatever he gave you to keep you quiet? It’s bigger than that. He’s dangerous. And you let him in.”

“I didn’t let him in.” you snap, suddenly defensive. “He got in because he wanted me. Because he likes me. Because I like him.”

“And when the time comes,” she says, turning back around, eyes locked on yours. “and you have to choose between us and him, what’s your play?”

You’re shaking.

You can’t answer.

And Rumi sees it.

“…Get out.”

“Rumi—”

“Get. Out. Before I say something we both regret.”

You stagger back. One step. Then another.

And as you open the door—Zoey and Mira. Absolutely planted on the other side. Zoey straightens so fast she almost falls into a lamp. Mira just steps back, arms crossed, deadpan. Neither of them says a word.

You don’t say anything either.

You just walk away.

ROMANCE

Ohhh baby. You’ve just opened Pandora’s box with Romance.

The first time you and Romance crossed paths just the two of you, it was bloody. And violent. And frankly, stupid hot in hindsight.

You were rooftop hunting, your blade humming with enchanted energy, adrenaline in your teeth. The Saja Boys were slippery—always were—but he showed up like he’d been waiting for you.

You fought.

He was strong, too strong. Slippery. Every move came with a smirk, a breathy compliment, some infuriating “ooh, I like it when you’re rough.” You were sweating, pissed, cornered on the edge of a skylight.

But you didn’t back down.

You clocked him, hard, elbow to the jaw, leg sweep, blade to his throat, and he went down. Fell like a sack of demons with a ridiculous grunt and a flutter of his pretty shirt.

You stood there panting, blade raised.

Victory. Yours.

You even kicked him, toe of your boot to his ribs. “Dead?” you muttered.

He grabbed your ankle, fast as lightning, yanked, and dragged you straight to the ground with him. The breath left your lungs. Your body slammed to his. And suddenly? You were chest-to-chest with him, both breathing hard. His smile was bloody and filthy.

“Now this,” he purred. “is foreplay.”

You tied him up after that. You had to. Found rope in the storage unit of the building, tied his wrists behind his back, looped around the support beam. He didn’t fight it, no, of course not. He just watched you. Smirked. Made comments.

“That grip.” he said. “Ever thought of moonlighting in bondage? You’ve got talent.”

You should’ve killed him. Should’ve. He was just lying there, helpless, caked in blood.

But something in you faltered.

So you left him. Said it was a warning.

Before you left, he looked at you with those bedroom eyes and said, “Next time, bring better rope. You’ll be the one staying.”

And you did.

You came back. In the dead of night, alone.

And he wasn’t tied up anymore.

No, that time you were the one in knots.

Literal ones. Spread out, mouth covered in tape, eyes wide while he knelt between your legs, chin lifted and so fucking pleased with himself.

He whispered things you still feel heat up your spine when you’re alone in the shower.

That was the real beginning.

You’re not blameless. You like it. You like the chase, the secrets, the tension in every stolen second.

Romance doesn’t ask. He offers. He tempts. He brushes his fingers along your collarbone in passing, whispers filth into your ear just to see you shiver. He invites you to meet with him night after night. You go. Every time.

You’d call him a slut, except he only ever wants you.

He’s also attentive. Not the good boy kind, no. He’s too much of a tease for that. But he knows when you’re stressed, when you’re insecure, when you need to be fucked out of your head or just held while he brushes your hair. Super senses like he has do wonders in him getting your little feelings. Romance also has a memory like a thief. Remembers everything you say, down to the way you phrased it.

He’s obsessed with you. Openly.

But he also won’t stop flirting with other people in front of you just to rile you up.

(You’ve slapped him for it. He moaned. It didn’t help.)

He knows exactly what you are. A killer. A blade. Something sacred and trained and dangerous.

And he adores it.

“God, baby,” he’ll murmur while trailing his mouth down your thigh. “do you know how hot it is that you could murder me and choose not to?”

You don’t tell the girls. Obviously. They’d lose their minds.

Because you’re supposed to be on a mission to exorcise his ass from the planet—not get your back blown out on rooftops between hunts.

For an example, you let him tie you up again last night. He read you poetry while he did it. From memory. Filthy, ancient verses in a demon tongue you didn’t know—but understood perfectly from his eyes alone.

And when he made you scream his name, you think the whole street heard it.

Even when he’s being a tease—pulling your panties to the side in an alley or teasing you with promises he has no intention of letting you walk away from—his hands are always reverent. Worshipful.

He runs his fingers down your back when you’re not even paying attention. Laces your fingers together when you’re not touching him.

Then, it started with a bra strap.

Well, a glimpse of it, really, something delicate, lacy, red, peeking just above your sports tank when you bent down to pick up your dagger from the training mat. You didn’t even notice. But Zoey did. She always does.

Zoey squinted. “Since when do you wear matching sets for patrol?”

Mira glanced up from her weights, brow cocked.

You just shrugged. Played it off. “Self-care.”

They didn’t buy it.

And then it happened again.

The next night. And the next.

A different set this time, satin, black, barely-there. They weren’t judging you for it. Please. You’re hot, you’re allowed to feel yourself. But there was a pattern emerging, and it had nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with how you were always glowing when you came back from “walks.”

Your cheeks flushed. Your lips bitten. The scent of perfume that wasn’t yours clinging to your jacket.

And the final straw? Rumi walked into your room to grab something and saw an empty condom wrapper on your nightstand. You weren’t even home.

That night, the three of them made a decision.

They were going to follow you.

It’s late.

You thought you were slick—slipping out the back stairwell in your “casual clothes” (which just so happen to include a barely-buttoned blouse and lace-trimmed thigh harness under a trench coat). Hair glossy. Lip gloss glossier.

You head toward a park a few blocks away. A little bench nestled between two massive trees. Always quiet. Always shadowed.

And sitting there, legs crossed, coat open over a shirt unbuttoned just enough is Romance.

He looks up, sees you, and grins. That slow, wolfish, I’m-gonna-undress-you-without-touching-you kind of smile.

“You’re late.” he says.

“You’re early.”

“I’m always early. It gives me more time to think about you.” He says it like a whisper. You bite back a smile, step closer, the night air curling around your ankles like it knows this is wrong and wants in.

He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. Doesn’t even glance at your dagger strapped to your thigh.

You lean in, eyes half-lidded. “What if I was here to kill you this time?”

“Then tie me up first. You know how I like it.”

You laugh. It’s soft. Intimate. Familiar.

That’s the sound that does it.

Zoey’s voice, “Whaaaaaaaat.”

You whirl around.

Rumi. Zoey. Mira. Standing just behind the tree line, like they’d been parked there for ten whole minutes, watching your little forbidden lovers’ reunion.

Your blood goes cold.

Romance just sits back, arm along the bench like this is hilarious.

Zoey’s eyes are bulging. “Are you seriously making out with Romance?! As in Saja Boy, Romance?! Mister demon dick himself?!”

Mira’s arms are crossed, her voice dry. “So that’s what all the lace was about.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Romance, unbothered, lifts two fingers in a lazy salute. “Ladies.”

“Don’t you ladies me.” Zoey snaps, stomping forward. “What the fuck, Y/N?!”

You stumble over your words. “I—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like—okay, not like this. I wasn’t using him or betraying anyone or—”

“Oh my god, are you in love with him?!” Zoey howls.

Romance leans closer to you, whispers, “Say yes.”

You elbow him in the ribs so hard he wheezes. But he’s laughing. This fucker is laughing. And that laugh? It seals your fate.

Rumi steps forward, voice cold as glass. “Go home. Now.”

You look at Romance. He gives you a wink. A wink. He’s enjoying this. He is.

You turn to leave.

And you know they’re right behind you. Their silence is heavier than their words. Zoey’s arms are flailing in disbelief. Mira’s jaw is tight. Rumi says nothing, but you can feel her disappointment.

Back at the penthouse, everything feels louder. The walls feel tighter. Every footstep echoes like judgment.

You try not to flinch as the elevator closes behind you, sealing you inside with three of the people you love the most, and who now all look at you like you’re a stranger.

No one speaks.

You want to say something, break the silence, offer an explanation, but your throat’s tight, heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape before Rumi cuts it out herself.

When the elevator dings open at your floor, it’s Zoey who moves first. Quiet. Shoulders tense. Mira walks out after her. Rumi walks last, slow and composed, her silence ten times more dangerous than if she’d yelled.

You don’t even make it to the living room before Mira turns on you. “What the actual fuck, Y/N?”

You swallow. “I was going to tell you—”

“When?!” Mira snaps. “After you fucked all of them? Or just after the Saja Boys rip our hearts out?! Which was it?!”

“I didn’t—” You exhale, hands up, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t mean to fall into something with him.” You’ve gone over it a thousand times in your head. Every rule you broke. Every kill order you ignored. Every night you slipped away when your best friends were asleep, trusting you to be one of them, not one of the fucking enemy’s bedwarmers. “I know what I did.” you say, quieter. “I know it’s wrong.”

Zoey finally speaks, voice soft. “Then why did you keep doing it?”

You look at her. And she looks like she’s not angry like Mira, not composed like Rumi. Just… hurt. Her arms are folded across her chest.

“I don’t know.” you admit. “He’s a demon. He’s everything we’re trained to kill. But—”

“But you let him charm his way between your legs and now suddenly that makes it okay?” Mira’s voice is sharp. “You endangered us. All of us.”

“No.” you snap, louder now. “I would never let anything happen to you. I’m not stupid. I’m not just lying there letting him feed off my soul—he hasn’t even touched that part of me. I wouldn’t let him. I’m not a liability, Mira.”

“You are.” Mira spits.

Silence again.

You feel it in your stomach, a cold pit of shame. But beneath it, there’s something else. Something like defiance. Because yes, maybe you’re making a mistake. Maybe you crossed every line. Maybe you’re betraying the oath, the cause, the sisterhood.

But it wasn’t just sex. Not with Romance.

He sees you. Wants you. Not your blade, not your strength, not your usefulness to the mission.

Just… you.

“He cares about me.” you say, quietly.

“That doesn’t matter.” Rumi says. Her voice is so soft. “You’re a hunter. You don’t get to fall for the monsters. You kill them. Or you compromise everything we’ve built.”

Oh Rumi, we know why you think that.

Zoey bites her lip, voice shaking. “Are you in love with him?”

You hesitate.

And that’s the answer.

Mira throws up her hands. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Rumi looks at you like she’s assessing whether or not to kick you off the team. “We’re here to stop them, Y/N. All of them. We don’t get to make exceptions because they kiss nice or talk pretty.”

You nod slowly. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Rumi steps closer. “Because the second he snaps his fingers, and decides he’s hungry, you’re the first soul he’s going to devour.”

Do you really think that Rumi, or you’re just making shit up to stop your beloved Y/N from making the same mistake your mother did?

You want to scream that it’s not like that. That Romance—for all his bullshit, his flirting, his filthy mouth—has never once made you feel prey. You’ve never seen him lose control. Never once doubted he would stop if you told him to.

But even you know that doesn’t make it safe.

You glance between them, the three people you’ve fought with, bled with, survived with, and it feels like you’re in the wrong. You are.

Zoey steps forward finally, hand brushing yours. “If you really love him… then please be careful. Don’t make us bury you because you thought he was different.”

Her voice breaks at the end.

And Mira won’t even look at you.

Rumi just turns and walks toward her room. Before she disappears down the hall, she says one last thing:

“You have one chance to fix this. Or next time, it’s me that puts a blade in his chest.”

The door slams.

Your pretty underwear under your clothes feels stupid now.

But even through all that, you know, deep down?

You’re not going to stop seeing him.

And that’s the problem.

BABY

Oh, Baby.

You hate(d) his name.

Baby.

You don’t even know when it started.

Just that one second you were fighting, and the next?

You were… not.

It was supposed to be a quick hunt. You’d gotten separated from the girls for like five minutes—five whole damn minutes—and then bam. He was there.

Backstage, right behind the curtains at some underground venue, blinking at you like you were the surprise, not him.

Did he say anything?

No.

Just smirked.

And you knew it was a smirk, even if his mouth barely moved. Something about the way his eyes narrowed, chin tilted. The unbothered little lean against the wall, arms crossed. Hair too shiny. Mouth too glossy. Pretty in a way that made you want to scratch it up.

So you drew your blade.

He didn’t move. Just blinked again. Like you were the one being ridiculous. Then you lunged. He blocked you, lazy, like your movements were predictable. A joke. Your blade barely missed his throat, and he laughed. Not even like a proper laugh. Just this airy “heh” with his head tilted like, Is that all?

And you? Furious. Mortified. Already picturing the way Mira would roast you for getting played by the baby demon.

So you kicked his leg out from under him. Hard.

The fight got into close combat from there, your blade dropped to the floor. And the two of you just… went at it. Not even fighting anymore, just grappling, rolling across concrete with all the force and heat of a catfight.

His fingers in your hair. Your hand around his throat. Neither of you speaking, just panting, growling, gritting teeth. And his face?

Still blank. Still bratty. Still beautiful.

Until your knee landed in a very strategic place and he grunted—actually made a sound—and somehow that flipped a switch.

Next thing you knew?

You were on your back, shirt pushed up, his mouth on your tits, sharp little teeth teasing your skin as you hissed at him to fucking go.

“The girls are almost on. I have to go.” You hissed.

His response? A slow blink. Like you’re so loud and he was busy. Then he kissed a bite-mark over your nipple like it was his fucking signature and pulled back, shirt half untucked, his lips all red, and not a care in the world.

He didn’t say anything. Didn���t wink. Didn’t flirt. Just looked at you like he expected you to come back later. Like he knew you would.

You did.

Because Baby is… different.

He doesn’t do the “Oh, I want you so bad” stuff. That’s Romance’s thing. Doesn’t do the “I’ll protect you, angel” softness. That’s Jinu. Doesn’t even do the “Come here, babe, sit on my lap” gym rat boyfriend vibes. That’s Abby. Doesn’t let you control him like Mystery does.

Baby ignores your ass half the time.

You text him that you’re downstairs? He doesn’t even buzz you up. You have to break in. You say something flirty and he shrugs. You try to make plans and he answers with a yawn.

But when you’re alone? When you’re in the dark corners of club basements or dressing rooms or the stairwell no one uses between the 6th and 7th floors of the broadcast building?

He’s all teeth and tongue and whispers against your throat. Biting. Mouthing. Slouching against you like he doesn’t care but always pulling you closer.

He talks more with his mouth on your body than he ever does out loud.

His affection comes in weird little ways. Like slipping your favorite drink into your bag without saying anything, which he clearly stole from someone. Like swiping the exact eyeshadow palette you complimented on a make up staff member.

Like blowing off fan meetings just to sit in the dark and watch you stretch, head tilted.

And every time you call him out on it?

He gaslights you. Fully.

“What palette?”

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“You said I could come in.”

“You didn’t say stop.”

Smug. Rude. Hot as fuck.

And for all his demon blood and dead-eyed stares, there are moments—tiny, barely-there glimpses—where you think he might actually care about you. Like really care.

He is the worst, but underneath that generally insufferable personality, he actually kinda likes you.

He still ignores the fuck out of you.

Deadass. You’ll walk into a room and Baby won’t even glance up. You’ll say hi and he won’t say anything back. Doesn’t even nod. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him to move. He never moves. Just slowly looks at you like you’re interrupting.

But the second you’re smiling on your phone, texting?

Laughing too hard?

Not paying attention to him?

He’s right there. Doesn’t say a word. Just drapes himself over you like a cat and sighs against your neck like this is what I had to resort to?—then nips at your collarbone.

You tell him to go away. He doesn’t.

You shove at him. He goes heavier.

You call him annoying.

His answer:

“Mhm.”

You’ll be pouring tea, being the sweet, functional human being you are, and he’ll just… slide his mug over. No eye contact. No “please.” Not even a “yo.” He just tugs on your sleeve once and you already know.

You always say the same thing: “I’m not your maid.”

To which he always responds by… waiting.

Not moving.

Just standing there like …so?

So you pour the tea.

Every. Damn. Time.

(And then he takes a tiny sip and says, “Too hot.” And you fantasize about kicking him in the shins.)

He has the nerve to walk around with that adorable, sweet little face. Wide eyes. Lashes for days. Little nose. Pink lips. He blinks at people and they melt.

“Oh my god, is he shy?”

“He’s so precious!”

“Aww, he’s like a little bunny!”

LIES.

Baby is a demon.

A predator.

A horrible little shit who absolutely uses his face as a weapon.

Don’t even get me STARTED on his voice. It does not match him. At all. It’s low and slow and filthy, like it’s meant for whispering horrible things directly into your ear. And he knows it. He uses it. He’ll say your name in that voice, right behind you, when he wants something. And every time it works, you hate yourself a little more.

You hate him.

You want to climb him like a tree.

You’re the problem.

He likes you though. He really does.

He doesn’t say it. Obviously. But you know.

He shows up at your window at 2 a.m. and does not leave you alone, that’s his love language. You wonder what Gwi-Ma thinks about that. Does he insult the poor boy in his head? Leaves the topic alone? A wonder, really.

He doesn’t care about people. Not really. Not like you do.

He’s selfish. Bratty. Condescending.

He never says “I love you.” Never writes sweet notes. Never says “I miss you” or calls you beautiful.

But he stays. He lingers. He lets you run your fingers through his hair when he’s tired. He lets you sleep on his chest when you both sneak off after dark. He lets you see the version of him no one else gets to.

You’re not sure if this is love, or madness, or both. But you keep crawling back. Keep letting him tug you close. Keep pretending it’s not dangerous, even though it’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done.

Yeah.

He’s terrible.

But you like him that way.

Anyways, your room is big. Like, stupidly big. The girls fought tooth and nail for this penthouse, and somehow, you ended up with the one room that had its own damn sitting area, fireplace, and balcony. Probably because you “never bring people over.”

Ha.

Right now, you’re sitting on your bed, one leg bent, your hair damp from a shower, some oversized shirt slipping off your shoulder. You’re glowing, content, the kind of comfort that only comes when your secret demon boyfriend is stretched out across your silk sheets.

Baby, flat on his back, hoodie pushed up just enough to expose his stomach. He’s got one arm under his head, and the other lazily dragging over your thigh.

And you’re telling him a story. Some stupid one from earlier. About Zoey trying to cook eggs and somehow setting off the fire suppression system, and Mira slipping in the foam and cussing in three different languages, and Rumi trying to keep everyone calm.

He doesn’t say much—he never does—but every once in a while, he makes this little “hn” sound that means he’s listening. His eyes flutter closed, long lashes brushing his cheeks, and you gently run your fingers across the curve of his bare stomach as you speak.

Just light touches. Lazy, mindless. Your thumb sweeping around his navel. Tracing the faint v-line that disappears under his waistband. And he just takes it. Like he deserves to be pet.

His hips shift just slightly, subtle little rolls into your hand. His lips twitch. He hums.

“You’re distracting.” you mutter, dragging your fingers down his side.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just tugs on the hem of your shirt like he wants it off but can’t be bothered to do it himself.

You laugh a little and lean over him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He lets you. He always does. Touchy and spoiled and acting like he’s the one doing you a favor by being here.

His fingers brush the back of your knee. Slide higher. God, he is so touchy. Not in a Romance kind of way, not in a flirty, dirty whisper way. Just clingy. Needy in a wordless, bratty little way. Always tugging at you. Always reaching. Not because he wanted attention, but because he expected it.

You’re just about to crawl into his lap when he suddenly opens his eyes—not startled, not alarmed, just blank. “Behind you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Door.”

You frown, confused. Turn to look, and your soul leaves your body.

Zoey. Mira. Rumi. Peeking through your bedroom door, all crammed into the tiny sliver they must’ve pushed open while you were distracted. All of them with their mouths slightly open. Eyes wide.

They must’ve been watching you for minutes.

Baby waves to them lazily.

The second your eyes meet theirs, they jerk back like they’d been slapped and slam the door shut.

SLAM.

Silence.

You stare at the door.

Baby stretches behind you, unfazed.

“You forgot to lock it.” he says, yawning like this is the most boring turn of events that’s ever happened to him.

“You watched them watch us!” you hiss, slapping his chest.

He shrugs. “You looked cute. Figured they’d agree.”

You launch a pillow at his face. He lets it hit him and doesn’t even blink.

You shoot to your feet like you’ve been lit on fire. You’re not even fully dressed, just the shirt, some thin little shorts, no bra, and your heart is thrashing in your chest because oh my god they saw. They saw everything. “You couldn’t have warned me earlier?!”

He gives a lazy shrug. “Didn’t think they’d stay.”

You smack him in the chest, hard.

“OW—what?!” he complains, still not even bothering to sit up. “You were telling a story.”

“Get out.” you whisper-yell, frantically waving your hands. “Go, go, GO!”

He groans dramatically, sitting up like it physically pains him. “You’re so loud.” he mutters.

But he stands anyway, tugging his hoodie down and making zero effort to look guilty. His hair’s a little messy, lips pink, eyes smug. He’s glowing like a man who’s very satisfied with his life choices. He is casually stretching his arms over his head. Right before he leaves, he pauses, looks at you, and then? Then he raises his voice just enough for the hallway to hear: “BYE GIIIIIRLS.”

He snorts to himself, satisfied with how he fucked up this for you even more, and leaves you there. Alone. Staring at the spot he just vanished from.

Okay, yeah, alright. You take a deep deep breath and walk over to your door to open it.

Rumi. Zoey. Mira. All standing in the hallway, backlit by the soft pendant lights. Their expressions? Zoey looks like she’s on the verge of tears but holding it together with sheer willpower. Mira’s pacing, fists clenched so hard her knuckles are white. Rumi is just staring at you, arms crossed, completely still. That’s the scariest part.

“Okay,” you say, voice cracking like the ice you’re walking on. “that was—”

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.” Mira explodes. Her hands fling up like she’s physically restraining herself from throwing them at you. “You had him in your room?! While we were home?!”

“It’s not like I—”

“Don’t.” Rumi says. Soft. Controlled. Dangerous. “Don’t say it’s not what it looked like.”

It was what it looked like.

Zoey finally speaks. Her voice is so small it hurts. “You… you’re with him?”

“I didn’t—” you start, stepping forward instinctively, “I wasn’t gonna— I mean, I was, I just—” You sigh and rake both hands through your hair. “Yeah. I’m with him.”

Silence.

Rumi’s brows lift slightly. “For how long?”

You look at the ceiling. “A while.”

“Did he brainwash you?” Mira snaps. “Are you cursed? Are you fucking STUPID—”

“Mira.” Rumi’s voice cuts like a blade.

“No, I wanna hear her say it.” Mira hisses, rounding on you. “Do you even care that he’s a demon? That he’s probably feeding off you? That he’s probably laughing with the rest of those Saja freaks about how easy it was to get a Hunter to spread her legs—”

“Shut the fuck up, Mira.” Your voice isn’t loud, but it lands.

Mira steps back.

“…I know what he is.”you say softly. “I know what we are. I’m not confused. I’m not cursed. I’m not being controlled. I know what I’m doing.”

Zoey’s lip trembles. “Then why?”

You glance away. Chew your lip. Feel your chest ache. “Because he’s not what I thought demons were. Not all the time. Not with me.”

Mira scoffs. “Oh, my God.”

Rumi stares at you, then she says, “Go to your room.”

“I—what?”

“Go. To your room. Now.”

You pause for half a second, wanting to argue. Wanting to stand your ground. But you’ve already shredded the ground beneath your feet. So you do as you’re told. You walk back in. Close the door. Sit down on the bed.

The sheets still smell like Baby.

MYSTERY

You like him. God help you, you really do.

It started during one of their meet-and-greets. A crowd full of obsessed fans screaming over them, while you stood in line like a regular human, hair tucked under a cap and sunglasses on your face, just scoping the scene.

That’s when you noticed him in the back. Standing off to the side like he wasn’t even part of the group. His mic wasn’t on. He wasn’t smiling. Just kind of… existing.

You don’t know what possessed you, maybe it was the odd way his hands were twitching around the prop mic, or the slight crease in his brows as he watched the crowd, but you stepped toward him. Just a little. Close enough that he looked up. Or at least, lifted his chin.

He was holding a lightstick upside down.

And god, something about that made your heart ache. Because he looked so confused. So detached. So alien in that moment. Like he didn’t get what any of this was for.

So you’d whispered, “Turn it around. Other way.”

He blinked. Glanced at it. Turned it slowly, obediently.

You reached out and twisted his fingers to hold it right. “There. Like that.”

He didn’t speak. Not yet. But he watched you. All of you. Your hands, your mouth, your face.

And when you turned to go?

“…Thanks.” he said. So small. So low. Barely audible.

After that, he kept noticing you. You’d catch him watching from across rooftops during a hunt, or from the shadows of backstage areas. Silent. Unmoving. A presence. He never approached you directly—you had to do that—but he let you. Which, coming from him, was kind of massive.

You started sneaking around. Sitting next to him when you knew the other Saja boys wouldn’t be around. Leaving stupid little notes for him where you knew he’d find them. One time you brought him a chocolate bar and he ate it. Quietly. Slowly. Then murmured, “Too sweet.” and handed the wrapper back.

You’ve learned to read his silences. Every little shrug or pause or twitch is a language now. One you understand. But he also talks, like:

“You smell good.”

“Don’t go yet.”

“You looked sad today.”

He didn’t have to be sweet with you. Or quiet. Or gentle.

He just chose to be.

Once you were in the alley behind a club where both your crews had performed. The others were still inside fighting. But he had slipped out. And so had you. Not nice, you know, but it felt right.

He had his back against the wall, shoulders relaxed.

You had asked him, “Why are you always so quiet?”

He shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s always something to say.” And then you turned toward him, shoulder brushing his, and whispered, “Like… if you wanted to kiss me.”

His breath stilled.

You watched his lashes lower behind his heavy hair. You could barely see his eyes, but you could feel them.

And then, softly:

“…Can I?”

You nodded.

He kissed you. No tongue, no hands, no hunger—not at first. Just lips.

Then you leaned in harder. Slid your hand up his chest.

Then he moved.

And after that? It was on.

It was a relationship—even if the word felt too loud, too bright, too human. You didn’t label it. You didn’t talk about it. But you felt it every time he waited for you. Every time he slipped into your space. Every time he murmured your name.

Don’t even get me started on the patterns on his dick. It’s weirdly attractive.

WHO SAID THAT?!

And then you got caught.

It had been weeks. The girls were suspicious, but they hadn’t figured him out yet. The others? Sure. But Mystery? Who could tell what he was even thinking, let alone who he was touching?

So that night, you got bold.

It was late. Everyone else was asleep. You were in the upstairs sunroom, one of your favorite places because it overlooked the whole city. Mystery was curled up with you on the wide window ledge.

Your hand was in his hair. His breath was on your neck. You had just whispered something—you don’t even remember what. Something dumb and soft and sweet.

He turns his face to you and said, “I like it when you talk.”

You blink. Smile. “That so?”

He nods once. “Your voice is warm.”

And you arw about to say something else when Zoey’s voice rang out behind you:

“…You’re kidding me.”

Your whole body jerks.

You turn so fast you almost knock Mystery out the window.

Zoey stands in the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw slack. Mira right behind her, looking like she was about to throw up. And Rumi is staring at Mystery.

And he—fucking audacious—is just sitting there. Calm. Not moving. One arm still around you.

He’s kinda evil so he’s definitely doing that on purpose.

“Okay—okay, listen—”

But Mira is already marching forward, murder in her eyes. “You’re sleeping with him?!”

“He’s not what you think—!”

“He’s a DEMON!”

Zoey looks betrayed. Like it physically hurts her to see you like this.

Rumi just says: “Leave. Both of you.”

Mystery doesn’t move until you move first. He stands slowly, brushing off his shirt. Then he reaches out, tucks your hair behind your ear, and whispers: “I’ll wait.”

Then he vanishes.

You walk back into your room, listening to Rumi. Like your best friends didn’t just see you wrapped up in one of the five you’ve all sworn—sworn—to destroy.

You don’t cry. You don’t know if you can. It’s just this huge, pulsing silence in your chest, like someone rang a bell inside you and then walked away.

To Rumi, this was personal.

We know why.

And she just saw you—her best friend—wrapped up in the arms of something she sees as rot.

Of him.

It’s not even about him being a Saja Boy. Not completely. It’s the idea that you’re letting something like that close to your heart. That you’re flirting with what her bloodline forced on her.

And she’s scared.

You sit there for what feels like forever.

Mystery’s scent still clings to your collar. You wonder if he’s out there waiting like he said. You wonder if the girls will ever look at you the same again.

You wonder if you even deserve it.

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic